


Pieces

by zenstrike



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bookish Keith, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Insecure Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), M/M, SORRY BUT IT’S CANON UNTIL I DIE, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15042437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Five times Keith found comfort with Lance, and one time he tried to return the favour.





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This didn’t quite turn out the way I wanted. I might try again another day from scratch.
> 
> Anyways, here we go: zen’s first 5+1 since the mid 2000’s wow.
> 
> s3 established klance because...me.

hand-holding

 **(1)** Keith knows he has his work cut out for him. He stares up at the ceiling during their night-cycles and he drifts off during briefings he’s supposed to lead and he thinks: this is going to be hard. He doubts he knows how to navigate the romantic interpersonal lines between teammate, rival, and boyfriend.

    He doesn’t run, though. He twitches. He practices breathing exercises he hasn’t thought about in years. He watches Lance.

    Lance doesn’t always seem to see this. It’s one of the many paradoxes of their growing relationship: Lance has a funny way of making Keith feel seen, sometimes exposed; and then other times he has a funny way of making Keith feel hidden, draped in his own shadow.

    Keith is impatient: with himself, with them.

    Keith watches Lance laugh with the others. He sees the easy warmth and physicality between him and Hunk. He sees the affectionate tilt of Allura’s head as they talk, their conversations less irritating flirtation and more nuanced camaraderie. He sees Lance scoop Pidge into his arms when she falls asleep in the hangars, or the lounge, or the kitchen, and he sees how Pidge lets him carry her off and tuck her tight into her own bed.

    He gets jealous. It’s awful. He stuffs it down as far as it will go and sometimes he dreams about telling Red all his insecurities and uncertainty because now, in a way, they share Lance. In the real world, he hasn’t looked at Red properly since Black seeped into his brain, all collected and warm rather than ragged and hot.

    His instincts tell him to hold on tight, and at the same time swallow it down. He understands, after all; he was part of the decision to keep _them_ to _themselves_.

    All the same, when the tension builds and starts to squish the breath from his lungs Keith maneuvers them into alone time with only a sliver of guilt, and he grabs Lance’s hand.

    Lance, always, just smiles and says something teasing, or something warm, or something outright affectionate and/or insulting. He lets Keith tangle their fingers together, and he doesn’t notice the difficulty as it leaks out of Keith’s pores. Holding hands with Lance while the universe flows around them is like breathing fresh, cool air.

    It’s healing.

 

hair

 **(2)** Lance has a thing about Keith’s hair. Sometimes when they’re alone together he reaches out and twists his fingers into it and Keith just lets himself lean into the attention, even if seems unconscious on Lance’s part.

    Keith would be more self-satisfied if he didn’t enjoy it so much.

    Sometimes comes when Lance sees the tension in his back, like there’s a sign that says: Keith’s neck hurts from stress and his back from slouching. Sometimes comes with Lance barrelling into a story or comment or complaint and comes also with Keith’s awareness of Lance’s long fingers.

    He starts craving it. It’s an evolution. Keith would call it mounting desire but whenever the word even starts to poke at the edge of his mind he trains until he can’t feel his knees or his eyeballs. It’s the logical next step, however he can unashamedly describe it. It’s the only thing that could overcome his need for—hand-holding.

    He only realizes when Lance says: “I’m going to wash your hair.”

    Keith had dropped his bayard, much to Lance’s amusement.

    Fingers tapping against his cheek, Lance studies him. “I’m serious.”

    Keith blinks. He opens his mouth. He closes it.

    Lance continues on like this is normal (lately, it has been). “Don’t get too excited, mullet-of-my-life. Consider it the first of many lessons in self-care.” He pauses, grimaces, and then shrugs. “You need it.”

    Keith blinks again. ”I do?” He scowls, and then finally catches up to himself. “I know how to wash my hair, Lance.”

    “That’s not the point,” Lance says and holds out a hand and Keith, despite himself, takes it. “Washing is not the same as _caring_.”

    “Okay?” Keith says.

    What follows in an unsexy lecture in what Lance indelicately calls mullet-maintenance. Keith starts outraged, and then starts to get embarrassed because Lance shoves him into his shower and talks the entire time.

    The entire time.

    “Should I write this down?” Lance says, sounding both amused and annoyed.

    “Guh,” Keith says instead of actual words.

    Except eventually, the insistent, slightly petty piece of his lizard brain says: this isn’t bad; this is very good. And what a thing it was to have Lance’s attention all to himself; to have Lance’s hands in his hair and his voice in Keith’s ear!

    There’s something distinctly unsexy about the whole situation but Keith sags into Lance’s touch and his lecture all the same. And eventually, he forgets that Shiro is missing and that he and Lance are a secret and that Lotor is creeping across the universe like a grease stain.

    “Conditioner is a thing even in space,” Lance tells him and Keith just nods.

 

quality time

 **(3)** Keith reads trashy Altean novels dredged up from the archives Coran gave him cheerful access to in the early days of their defending of the universe. It takes study and concentration but Keith takes it all, willingly and eagerly, because he misses his walls of worn paperbacks and read and re-read ebooks.

    “Stuff,” he tells anyone who asks as he wanders about the castle-ship, his nose pressed to a tablet.

    “ _Stuff_ ,” Lance echoes while he hogs Keith’s bed. He’s gleeful, like he’s found out a great secret of Keith’s all on his own when Keith had willingly (regretfully) told him the truth.

    “Stuff,” Keith repeats in a mumble.

    The truth is that they all have their own sort of _stuff_.

    Keith, the next day, steps into the kitchen feeling less like an out-of-place bookworm and more like a renegade loser with his eyes glued to the screen and his mouth trying to sound out an unfamiliar word. When he lifts his head, he sees Lance with his head down on the gleaming counter, the hunch of his back under his jacket like a flare catching Keith’s eye and attention.

    He can hear Lance breathing and it sparks thoughts of late nights fighting off anxieties and nightmares and counting the rises and falls of Lance’s chest. They’ve fallen asleep together a handful of times by now but it’s never intentional, it’s never: _let’s go to bed_.

    The door slides shut behind him. Keith lowers his tablet. Warmth blossoms in his chest while anxiety curls in his stomach.

    “Lance,” he tries. Lance doesn’t lift his head.

    Keith strains to hear past Lance’s breathing and catches the chiming rises and falls of muted music.

    He steps forward and comes to the stool next to Lance. Lance has his head resting on his folded arms, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted.

    It’s the first time Keith thinks, actively and explicitly: _I love you_.

    He sits. Pidge’s headphones seem starkly green against Lance’s hair and skin. He thinks about pulling them off and seizing Lance’s attention but he sets his tablet down on the counter instead and leans his head against one palm and he watches, and he listens.

    Lance opens his eyes eventually and just smiles at him.

    In Keith’s head, Lance repeats: _stuff_ , and it’s less teasing and more soft

    “Hey,” Keith says.

    Lance’s smile grows.

    Keith forces himself to look away and looks back down at the tablet, the orange bright against the counter, but he can’t make out the words. Lance is a warm presence beside him, invigorating and distracting. Not for the first time, Keith thinks: what would Shiro say?

    He looks back at Lance who is no longer smiling but still watching him.

    Keith wants to stop thinking of what Shiro _would_ say and just keep waiting for Shiro to come back and actually say it.

    He reaches out and touches Lance’s elbow. It takes Lance a moment, and then he unfolds his arms and Keith takes his hand.

    There’s a moment where Keith just breathes. Lance eventually closes his eyes and he sighs along to the music and Keith waits for his heart to steady.

    Shiro would say to take his time, or so Keith’s rebellious brain tells him. He doesn’t know what the truth is but there’s something special about the silence they can sit in and the slots their fingers fill for each other.

    He goes back to his book.

    It doesn’t last long. They sit together, hands clasped, until the door opens and Hunk barrels in and Keith stands. Their hands slip apart and Keith is leaving, his head bent and his eyes no longer reading.

    He hears Lance’s laughter from down the hall, and smiles.

 

spooning

 **(4)** Keith dreams about Shiro. He wishes it was more specific, but all he gets are glimpses of Shiro drenched in purple light and saying Keith’s name over, and over, and over, and over. As the weeks go by and Keith begins to slide with greater ease into Black’s waiting mind, Shiro’s voice becomes less desperate and more sad.

    Keith wakes abruptly, his mind racing.

    “Fuck,” he says to the ceiling. “Fuck.”

    Eight weeks after they lost Shiro, seven after he and Lance became something hidden and warm, he throws himself out of bed and holds his head in his hands and tries to remember how to breathe.

    He can’t shake the feeling he’s missing something.

    “Fuck,” Keith says again and he leaves his room.

    He knows how many steps it is to the training deck. He knows how many steps it is to Red’s hangar (but not to Black’s). He learns it’s thirty-four rapidfire steps to Lance’s door.

    _Fuck_ , he thinks as he stares at it. He looks both ways and remembers clutching his father’s hand as they crossed a street.

    He knocks and it’s so loud he thinks about running. He feels ridiculous in his heavy sleep shirt and light pants.

    He knocks again. “Lance,” he whispers.

    The sound of Lance’s name in his own voice is enough to make his muscles tense, ready to flee, and then the door slides open.

    Lance’s face is glowing in the dark, in part because Keith is so fucking gone for him it’s ridiculous and more because Lance is wearing a facemask apparently developed from bioluminescent weeds.

    “Keith?” Lance says.

    “Let me in,” Keith mutters.

    Lance blinks. The mask shifts as he frowns. “Are you a vampire?” he says and yawns but steps aside.

    Keith scurries in.

    “What is it?” Lance asks as they stand in the dark.

    “Nothing,” Keith lies.

    “Liar,” Lance replies.

    Keith ignores him and crawls into the bed.

    “Rude,” Lance says without bite but he comes to the bed as well. Keith draws the blankets over them presses his face to Lance’s shoulder and breathes deeply. “Miss me?”

    “Yes,” Keith admits.

    Lance laughs, but it’s the stuttered and flustered laugh that comes out when Keith has done something to disarm him.

    “Keith,” Lance yawns eventually. “What is it?”

    “Nothing,” Keith lies again.

    “Talk to me.”

    “It’s late.”

    Lance relents and Keith curls around him and wakes up with his face pressed to the back of Lance’s neck and Lance’s facemask smeared into his hair.

 

hair 2

 **(5)** “Lance,” Keith says, steady and serious. “Let me wash your hair.”

    Lance eyes him. There’s something calculating behind his eyes, lately. Something both sure and uncertain.

    “I’m serious,” Keith says without prompting.

    “I know,” Lance says, and takes Keith’s hand.

    Keith massages conditioner into his hair and listens to his complaints and peppers kisses along his shoulders and knows— _knows_ —that he is being selfish and they both know it.

 

comforting/reaching out

 **(+1)** Lance is on the bridge and the stars are unfolding around him. It’s an image that feels seared into Keith’s brain, both romantic and sombre. It catches him off-guard.

    “Lance?”

    Lance turns, startled. He looks sheepish as he shoves his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders. He looks like he’s been caught. “Hey.”

    “Hey,” Keith echoes.

    He steps towards Lance. Lance looks away.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Nothing.”

    It’s a lie. That awareness shakes something at Keith’s core. He stops an arms-length away.

    “Lance,” he says. He crosses his arms and looks at his feet so he doesn’t stare at Lance’s back. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again: “What’s going on?”

    Except that Keith knows—or, the Black Paladin piece of Keith knows because the Red Paladin piece of Lance had told him. He wants to take that last step towards Lance but molasses pulls at his legs and shame keeps him from speaking.

    “Nothing,” Lance says again, but this time after a pause and a sigh like he gave it some thought, or entertained telling Keith the truth.

    Keith wonders if he knows what the truth is. He lifts his head and looks straight into Lance’s waiting eyes.

    “Are _you_ okay?”

    Keith considers this. No, he knows, is one honest answer.

    “I love you,” he says, because that’s another.

    Lance blinks. “Oh,” he squeaks out.

    “Yeah,” Keith says, feeling awkward and unsteady in his own skin. He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

    “Um.” Lance shifts from foot to foot. He scratches at the back of his neck. He looks like a novel hero. Keith would hate him if he didn’t love him. “I—“

    “No,” Keith corrects quickly, unfolding his arms and letting his fists stick to his sides. “I’m not—“ He cuts himself off and shakes his head to clear it. “I’m just...saying.”

    Lance frowns. “I don’t get it.”

    “I’m saying it,” Keith says. “So you can hear it.”

    “Okay…? I, uh—I hear you.” Lance hunches again, his shoulders seeming by his ears.

    “I love you,” Keith says again, and it comes easier. He grimaces all the same. “Don’t say it back, just...hold on to it.”

    “Hold on to you...loving me?”

    “Yeah.”

    Eventually, Lance smiles: small, a little timid, a little flustered, but a smile all the same. Keith lets out a breath.

    “You’re so romantic,” Lance teases, and Keith retaliates by holding his hand like it’s some kind of proof that they fit together.

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve been trying to find this Perfect fanart i saw a while ago of keith getting lance to teach him to wash his hair because Affection and i can’t find it but that obviously inspired Certain Things here sob
> 
> edit: I FOUND IT: http://proqressinq.tumblr.com/post/174545639304/he-didnt-forget


End file.
